


The Odd Ones Out

by TinyChubbyBird



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Everyone Has Issues, Fluff and Angst, Gen, No Romance, Other, and maybe crushing on each other, but let me know if you want me to add any, but we're all doing our best, dw im all about happy endings and fluff, ending might feel rushed, everybody went/goes to therapy, i dont think theres any trigger warnings, i was running out of fuel, i wrote this to overcome my writers block, its more like becoming friends, no beta we die like men, no serious angst tho, reader is genderneutral, this fic is me venting about my own problems basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyChubbyBird/pseuds/TinyChubbyBird
Summary: Humans didn’t make sense.They would make irrational choices, contradict their own statements, get emotional over stories and characters that weren’t real, yell at non-living objects - The list could go on forever.Connor was programmed to adapt to such strange human behaviour. He was programmed to identify it, save it into his memory storage, and recognise it later on in order to learn and adapt. He was getting better at it every day, though he had to admit that there were still many things he didn’t understand or see any kind of logic in.But there was one person in particular that never failed to utterly baffle him.And that person was you.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 107





	The Odd Ones Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hey my dudes,
> 
> it's been a while. This is an update on my life, for anyone who's wondering what the hecc I'm doing.  
> Despite the amount of free time I have (which is a lot), I can't bring myself to write much of anything. I'm a perfectionist, and anything that's not to my liking or not detailed, thought-through enough is automatically not good enough to post. I'm not even really active in the DBH fandom anymore - this one shot is probably almost a year old, but I liked it so I decided to finish it. I thought maybe by finishing and posting this, it may help me feel more free of my own restrictions and break through my writer's block. Currently, I'm (mostly mentally) working on several other ideas and fics. A few of them are original, no fandom or reader involved, but that's a lot of work and I find myself being very much stuck with that. Others are still for the DBH fandom, then there's a few FFXV ones, and at the moment I'm feeling particularly inspired by Welcome to Night Vale. We'll see how that all goes, I guess.  
> I'm kinda dealing with anxiety and what the heck I want to do with my life and stuff, since I've been at home for two years now and not doing much of anything. Also, I never thought turning 20 would give me this big of a crisis. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!  
> Have a great timezone <3

Humans didn’t make sense.

They would make irrational choices, contradict their own statements, get emotional over stories and characters that weren’t real, yell at non-living objects - The list could go on forever.

Connor was programmed to adapt to such strange human behaviour. He was programmed to identify it, save it into his memory storage, and recognise it later on in order to learn and adapt. He was getting better at it every day, though he had to admit that there were still many things he didn’t understand or see any kind of logic in.

But there was one person in particular that never failed to utterly baffle him.

And that person was you.

“You know, one would think drinking this _Effect_ energy drink would help me to stay awake,” you slurred your words, head lying on your desk while one hand was holding said energy drink, tapping your fingertips against its surface lazily, “but it certainly doesn’t AFFECT me very much.”

Connor heard Hank groan, while you let out an almost drunken laugh at your own joke.

-

Another night at a crime scene, another dead body-

“What the fuck is an _android_ doing here?”

-and, evidently, another person that despised androids. The woman was in her mid 30s, red lipstick emphasizing the frown on her lips as her narrowed eyes stared at Connor in, what he could recognize as, utter disgust. He wondered for a moment how a person 25,08 centimetres shorter than his 1,83 meter tall body was still able to look down at him like she did.

This kind of behaviour was in no way foreign to him, and Connor rarely let it bother him either, so he decided to ignore it and move onto his investigation.

“Want me to stab her?”

Your voice – which sounded worryingly serious – stopped him from doing so, however.

Connor turned around to shoot you a concerned look, his LED blinking and spinning yellow for a moment as he read your facial expression, trying to decipher if you were joking or not.

He opened his mouth to reply, albeit a little hesitantly; “...While I do appreciate the sentiment behind your offer, I must decline. If you added another murder victim to this crime scene, I would have to arrest you, detective.”

Instead of laughing and telling him that you were, indeed, just joking, like Connor had expected, you made a disappointed sound in the back of your throat and kicked invisible stones away with your boots.

“Too bad,” you sighed, looking like a dejected little kid that was just told it wouldn’t get any candy. Connor’s concern only grew at that, LED blinking red for a very short moment.

“Detective-” he stressed, feeling the need to tell you that murder was strictly against the law, something you, as part of the _Detroit Police Department_ , should know. But before he could say anything, Hank came up and lightly slapped the back of your head, “Jesus, kid, you need to get some more sleep, or else people will think you’re actually being serious.”

“They weren’t?” Connor heard himself say before he could stop his own voice box from producing sound. It was true that you obviously weren’t getting nearly the considered healthy amount of sleep, emphasized by deep, dark circles under your droopy eyes, and Connor knew that drowsiness made humans slow, mentally and physically, but your voice and facial expression had lacked any sort of humour that Connor was used to.

“See? That’s what I mean,” Hank said, gesturing in Connor’s general direction, “You can’t say shit like that with a straight face to poor Connor over here. You know he’ll actually fucking consider you’re capable of cold-blooded murder.”

You let out a long sigh. “Sorry, you’re right. I was just joking.” Connor relaxed at that, LED immediately going back to a bright blue, before you added: “I wouldn’t _stab_ her, I would just break her neck.”

Hank slapped your head once more, whilst Connor’s processor had immense difficulties to comprehend.

Later that night, when everyone was back at the police station, Hank and Reed questioned possible witnesses, while you and Connor stood back to watch. Normally, you two would take over the interrogation, with his remarkable talent of finding ways to uncover the truth, and your impressive skills at reading people’s facial expressions and moods, but after what happened at the crime scene earlier, he absolutely refused to let you near anyone that exceeded the percentage of 40% at the chance of showing contempt towards androids, since it seemed to trigger you in the worst ways.

Regardless, you still managed to make him worry.

“Detective, if I may, I’d suggest you put away that knife before you hurt yourself.” _Or someone else_ , he wanted to add, but decided not to.

“Let me twirl my knife in peace,” you muttered, before putting the knife back into your pocket anyway. After you had watched Connor do his awesome coin tricks, you decided to learn some tricks of your own. But instead of using a coin, or anything else less dangerous, you went with _knives_. Whilst Connor didn’t really approve, he had to admit that he was quite impressed with the way you handled a knife like it wasn’t something that could actually kill you at any given moment.

There was a long moment of quiet as you two continued to watch the interrogation, before Connor heard you let out a soft sigh; “Listen, Connor, I didn’t actually mean what I said back there.”

“What exactly are you referring to?” Connor knew, but he felt the need to be 100% sure.

“That I’d murder that bloody woman. I wouldn’t kill _anyone_. Gosh, I can’t even kill a fly without crying,” - Connor’s LED blinked as he pictured it - “It just pisses me off whenever people look at androids like they’re offending them by just _existing_. Androids never did anything wrong, and them taking people’s jobs was never their fault at all – it was CyberLife’s. People pointing fingers in the wrong direction and hurting innocent lives in the process while thinking they’re doing the right thing makes me just so _angry_. So I tend to say things that I don’t actually mean. Well, kind of. I mean, I still wanted to slap her, but I wouldn’t actually _act_ on it, you know? At least not without a good reason that would defend me in court.”

Connor’s gaze wandered to your face and was met with your exhausted, but gentle expression. There was a tired smile tugging at your lips, and he allowed himself to relax and return it. “Thank you for telling me, detective.”

-

The times where you were just sitting at your desk, minding your own business and working on something alone, were often the most intriguing ones for Connor. He found himself unable to keep from glancing your way every now and then, increasing his hearing in order to listen to your quiet mumbling.

You tended to talk to yourself a lot when working alone, especially when you were working on a computer. You would sometimes hum a tune to yourself, curse at the software you worked with, or laugh for seemingly no reason at all. Everyone else around you had gotten used to it by now and paid no attention to you, unless you actually sought out a conversation with someone.

“How many dots should I use? One dot says ‘it’s done’, two dots look like a mistake, three dots are a dramatic pause, four are a bit much but could still be fitting in this situation, whilst five or even more dots would just be unacceptable and stupid-”

But how could Connor _possibly_ ignore this?

He allowed himself to let his curious gaze wander towards your form once more. Your eyes were staring at the bright computer screen, fingers tapping against your desk while you pondered over the amount of dots needed in your report, chewing on your lower lip all the while.

“-Or ARE they?” you suddenly grinned, “I bet it will confuse people. Let’s bring some oddity into this – more fun this way.”

He watched as you started cackling evilly, seemingly proud of your little mischief. It were mostly the little things in life that made you the happiest, he noticed.

-

“Why the fuck are you holding your arm like that?”

Connor turned at the sound of Reed’s voice, knowing that you were currently standing in the same direction.

You were, indeed, holding your arm up rather strangely, inspecting it as if you were seeing it for the first time. At Reed’s words though, you started holding it closer to your chest, as if worried he would steal it from you. Connor frowned.

“I just thought I saw a- some dirt, or something,” you quickly dismissed, shrugging and letting your arm fall back to your side, though it was still being held more stiffly and farther away from your body then the other arm, which Reed didn’t seem to notice as he just snorted and turned back towards the coffee machine.

“You’re so fucking weird.”

You flinched. It was just for a millisecond, the tiniest pull of your facial muscles, just the smallest movement of your shoulders and arms, but Connor saw it. You were hurt by Reed’s words, but quickly covered it up with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“I know,” you laughed, though it was devoid of any joy. Before Gavin could make another comment, your eyes found Connor’s and you quickly made your way over to him.

As soon as you reached his side, you let out a small breath, visibly relaxing, and shot him a smile, a real one this time. “Heya,” you greeted him happily. Connor returned your smile with one of his own, hoping it was the warmest and kindest he got in store, because you only deserved the best.

“Connor, look.” You held up your arm for him to inspect, higher this time, since Connor was rather tall. He leaned forward and scanned it. There was nothing unusual; no wounds on your skin, no bruises, no new doodles either (and there used to be _a lot_ of them just two days ago). The only thing he noticed was a tiny, _very_ tiny fly sitting on your arm.

“I made a new friend,” you giggled.

“A... fly?” Connor asked, voice soft and curious.

“Yup,” you nodded, “Told you I can’t even hurt a fly. They’re such tiny little dorks, and they keep using me as a cab to get around. So freaking adorable.”

He watched as the tiny fly walked across your skin and onto your fingertips, moving its tiny wings every now and then, but not yet attempting to fly away.

“People just kill insects like that without a second thought, you know? ‘They’re so small and insignificant, why bother? They’re just annoying,’ blah blah blah. But just imagine being an insect for a moment. Just imagine being this little guy right here. His life is probably very short, so he tries to make the best out of it. He just wants to live, too. Just imagine minding your own business, and then suddenly someone decides your life is too worthless and just... kills you. And it’s over. And no one will even be sad about your death, the person won’t even feel guilty about it. No one will care.”

You looked up, and Connor could see the reflection of his red LED in your eyes. You gave him a sad little smile, “Kind of like how humans treat androids, don’t you think?”

He just nodded.

You patted his shoulder with your other hand that didn’t have a living being on it, “But hey, I don’t think flies are actually thinking about any of this. I doubt they’d start a revolution, eh?” you tried to comfort him, making his LED circle back to blue.

Your face suddenly fell. “ _Or would they_?”

Unbeknownst to you, the little fly on your hand had heard everything, opening its eyes to the world. It realized the injustice, seeing how humans swatted at its kind at any given moment with no other reason than being annoyed by their existence. It swore to take revenge. Its species would rise up soon, and let the world know that they were more than just stupid little pests.

...Just kidding.

Connor watched as the fly opened its little wings and flew away, moving on with its short life, and ultimately ended up bumping against a window.

-

Another case closed, and it was time for the celebration. 

Which meant Hank and Connor spent exclusive beer drinking time together (well, Hank had a few beers, Connor couldn’t digest human foods and drinks, so he was just holding an opened full bottle the entire time, until Hank drank that one too), talking about various things, and then they went to sleep. 

You, different from most of the people working at the DPD, had distanced yourself from any celebration - the one at The Bar™, the one at the Other Bar™, and the more private ones, like Hank and Connor’s. The android detective had been worried at first, thinking maybe you were going through something serious, or maybe you were unhappy with your involvement in the case - which he could easily provide a long list with proof as to why you had done a better job than at least 75% of the rest of the team -, but you had waved his concerns off with a smile, saying you just didn’t like social events very much (ask anyone who knew you, ever).

But at 2:07 AM, Connor was still unable to stop himself from thinking about you. Not only were you one of the most fascinating and strangest human beings he had met so far, he had noticed, on several occasions, how you started to withdraw yourself, like a snail shrinking back into its little shell. An analysis of your body vitals told him you were healthy, but what he really wanted to analyse was your mind, your _emotions_. Connor still had problems dealing with his own (and dealing with Hank’s), so it was often difficult for him to decipher someone’s mood and mental state. Sure, with enough clues to collect, he could deduce his way through his newfound social life, but Hank had told him about empathy and how you could just tell how someone was doing simply by being _around_ them. Connor did have empathy, but he didn’t know how to use it like that yet. His pre-programmed logical thinking was still in the way of his feelings most of the time, which helped with his usual detective work at crime scenes, but not with people. 

He could tell you that a casket needed to be well ventilated, otherwise gassy corpses inside one could explode due to the build up in pressure. He could tell you all about someone simply by looking at - and licking - their blood. But he couldn’t tell if you were having a bad day, even if you were sleep deprived, more quiet than usual, hissing at Reed, shying away from physical contact, and generally behaving odd, unless you told him directly so. 

So, determined to follow this hunch about something being not okay, he sent you a text. He would have called, or visited directly, but if he learned anything from Hank, it was that humans normally didn’t like it when their sleep got interrupted, especially not by an unexpected or unwelcome guest. 

Shortly after, your reply showed that you were also still awake - presumably for different reasons to his own -, and when asked if he could come over and “hang out” (he was starting to understand how Hank felt with adapting to younger people’s _slang_ ), he was relieved when you said yes. 

Approximately twenty minutes later, Connor was sitting outside in your garden, the not-quite-full-yet moon illuminating the world around him in a dim white light. You were wrapped up inside a blanket burrito, huddled on top of an outdoor chair, visibly tired but enjoying the nightlife. Connor, due to your insistence, also had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and even though it was unnecessary, he did enjoy the warm, safe feeling of it. 

And for the second time in a very short while, he found himself holding a beverage he couldn’t ingest, not quite sure what to do with it, even after you told him that simply holding the mug was already enough by itself. “Holding a warm cup in your hands is a big part of the experience. It just feels… nice. Makes you feel warm in more ways than one,” is what you told him.

So he just kept on holding the thing, taking in the design (a drawing of a cartoonish sloth, listening to music), the colors (white on the outside, azure blue on the inside), the texture (pretty damn smooth), and the shape (practical and easy to hold). It did feel nice, but he had yet to find out why.

“So,” your hushed voice pulled him out of his mug-deduction, turning his head to take in your expression and waiting for more input, “why exactly did you wanna come over? You said you wanted to talk, so… what’s on your mind?”

 _Plenty_ , Connor wanted to say. He wanted to go into detail about his stored away thought processes and recent deductions and questions, but he quickly reminded himself that that’s not what he was here for, and this was probably not the right time to tell you about how he randomly discovered his attachment for fish either; starting with the dwarf gourami he saved on his very first hostage situation, and how he hadn’t told Hank about it until they went on a spontaneous bonding-trip in which they went fishing on a lake, but ended up throwing all the fish back into the water because Connor had a major system error (Hank had called it a panic attack) when he realized that _killing_ the caught fish was part of fishing. 

No, he decided he could still tell you all about that later.

Instead, he answered, “I was wondering why you refused to get involved in any social events today. It was a pretty big case, and thanks to your hard work and thinking outside the box, it got solved a lot quicker than it would have been without you.”

You blushed and ducked your head at his honest answer and compliment (?), though you frowned, looking mildly incredulous. “Well, I don’t think my involvement was _that_ big of a deal,” you mumbled, but before Connor could object, ready to provide that proof he had already prepared earlier, you continued, “Is that why you’re still awake? Why you asked to come over?”

The android nodded, “Yes.”

Letting out a puff of air, you thought about your answer, eyes wandering away from Connor’s and fixating themselves onto the night sky instead. When you took a sip of your hot chocolate, Connor caught himself almost following suit out of instinct (what instinct? Where did that suddenly come from?), quickly putting the mug back down. He wouldn’t _die_ if he happened to ingest it, his synthetic stomach could deal with small amounts of substances that weren’t Thirium, but he would experience something very similar to stomach pain and nausea until his systems were clean again. 

He knew that, because he had tried it before, quickly learning to understand why “curiosity killed the cat.” 

“Well,” you eventually started, “Like I said before, I’m not exactly a fan of social activities, especially not with people I’m not friends with.”

“Are we not friends?” Connor asked, frowning and brown eyes wide. Sure, you hadn’t loudly declared your friendship to the world yet, but compared to everyone else, he would say that you spent more time interacting with _him_ during work than with anyone else. He thought the “inside jokes” and “friendly banter” you two shared was evidence enough, but maybe your idea of friendship was different. Maybe you had lots of friends outside of work that you treated completely different. 

He didn’t even notice the growing heaviness in his artificial heart until your words took it away again; “No, we _are_ friends. I… You’re probably my closest friend I have right now. I just…”

He waited, his grip on the warm mug tightening ever so slightly. 

“I guess I’m just scared. I feel most comfortable when I’m by myself, at home. I love my work, even though it’s outside of my usual comfort zone, but anything outside of _that_ just makes me panic. I think about how I could embarrass myself in front of everyone, make someone dislike me with how I act or because of something I said, or of something _happening_ … and it scares me.” Raking your fingers through your hair, you let out a sigh. “Look, I know I’m weird; I talk to myself, I laugh at dumb jokes and enjoy weird things, and everyone at the precinct knows this. Reed keeps making fun of it, and, like… that’s… fine. Okay, it’s not really _fine_ , I don’t know how to deal with it yet, but it’s to be expected. I’m not surprised. But, you see, this is who I am, I’m comfortable with being _me_ , I’m just not sure who’s comfortable being _with_ me. I- It’s hard to explain, sorry.” 

You took another deep breath. “Long story short; I just don’t know how to deal with people or trust them because I’ve been made fun of and looked at weirdly wherever I go and it’s making me feel extremely self-conscious.”

You were both quiet for a moment, with you nervously biting your lower lip and Connor processing several things at once. Eventually, he asked, “But you feel comfortable with me?”

“Yeah,” you said, looking deep in thought and staring at Connor’s shoes with a deeply contemplating look, as if they’d just told you that pigeons weren’t real, “I guess because I feel like… we’re kinda alike? I mean, as in, we both stand out in different ways, and we’re both kinda awkward - no offense -, and… I dunno. I just feel like you accept me more easily, like I don’t have to hold back or pretend when being around you. I can just be… myself. And that’s a nice feeling.” 

You looked back up to see his reaction, and Connor’s insides did _something_ when seeing your shy expression, ducking your head once again to hide your smile, belatedly realizing he had started smiling - practically _beaming_ \- himself at some point during your explanation. He rarely did that. He would smile when he was feeling playful or smug, but he had never smiled quite _this_ widely. 

“I feel like I can be myself around you too.” And he meant it. He adored watching you from afar, but talking to you was special. He felt like you never judged him, and each conversation was unique in its own way. You kept surprising him, and you never treated him differently for being an android. If anything, you treated him as if he was the most special person around, almost as if _he_ was the only human, and everyone else was the machine. 

“And I know it’s easy for me to say this, but don’t change for anyone else but yourself. If you’re happy with the way you are, it would be like killing a large part of yourself by pretending you’re something you’re not. You will find friends that like you for who you are, and you will drive away anyone that doesn’t.”

“Did you learn that in therapy?” you asked, smile and eyes warmer than the mug in his hands could ever be. 

“Yes,” he admitted, albeit a little bashfully. About a month ago, he had successfully convinced Hank to go to therapy by stating he would go too. It seemed to be enough of a kick in the ass for Hank to finally, albeit begrudgingly, agree. Connor found that after every session, he would understand himself a little better, and every time he would come closer to forgiving himself for everything he did as the deviant hunter. It would take a lot of work and a lot of talking and thinking to reach his goal, but baby steps still counted as progress. 

“I felt drawn to you from early on, and you still captivate me to this day without fail. I would be… missing something without you in my life.” He smiled fondly as he watched you hide inside your blanket burrito, apparently overwhelmed by his flattering honesty. More playfully, he added, “And that’s not something I learned in therapy.”

“Y- Yeah, I, uh, figured,” came your muffled voice, breath hitching slightly. Connor briefly wondered if you were laughing or crying, but when you peeked back out to look at him, you seemed very happy. “Thanks, Connor. I… I would miss you too.”

There was a long, mutual silence where the both of you were just smiling like the absolute dorks you were, before Connor started talking about his own social problems. It was the first time where he felt like the person he was talking to actually understood what he meant, receiving and giving advice in a way that didn’t feel like being taught a valuable life lesson or being treated like a dumb little child for not understanding the “basics of human interaction,” but instead figuring out a puzzling dilemma together, almost like solving a case. 

You had asked him if he ever thought about doing something else other than police work, if he ever considered changing his job. Connor hadn’t, actually. Not until his therapist had asked him about it a while ago, and he still didn’t know what else he could do other than analysing evidence, reconstructing crimes, running after culprits and interrogating them. He was already working on finding and trying out new hobbies, and he knew that just because he was basically _born_ into this line of work didn’t mean he had to keep doing it, but he actually enjoyed it. He was in his element, felt useful. He liked working with Hank, he liked having Captain Fowler as his boss, he liked Miller, and sometimes he even found himself liking Gavin Reed. And he liked you. He was content with how things were, and the things he wasn’t content with, he worked on during and after therapy, often together with Hank. 

It was 3:36 AM when you decided to move back indoors, putting the now cold and mostly empty mugs (yours was empty, Connor’s wasn’t) into the sink to wash later. Connor had sent Hank a message that he’d be staying over at your place for tonight, since you had graciously offered your couch to sleep on, and because he actually didn’t feel like leaving. 

-

“Guys, hear me out,” you said immediately after entering the breakroom, looking like you just uncovered some great secret about the universe, “Imagine a superhero that stopped crimes by threatening to spoil the ending of every series worth watching.”

Reed squinted at you as if that would help him see the logic in what you just said. “What?”

“Think about it!” you went on, completely undeterred, “Someone’s about to rob a bank, but then - _da da da daaa_! -, the hero arrives and threatens to spoil the entire plot of Doctor Who and Avatar. The only way to stop the spoilers from coming would be to give up on the crime, because the hero can’t die, of course, otherwise it’d be too easy.”

Reed gave a hum, still frowning but seeming to think about it, walking over to the coffee machine to get another cup. “Could also be a villain. I mean, that guy could go around and ruin everyone’s day just by yelling those spoilers around, posting them on social media, painting them on walls, or whatever. Knowing the ending of every damn series, movie, book and game would hold a lot of power.”

“Which means a lot of responsibility... yeah, you’re right.” You pondered over his words, grabbing a donut from the freshly delivered donut box. “Maybe that’s his eternal struggle. He could do a lot of good, but he could also do a lot of bad just for the heck of it. Maybe he could be an antihero? Kinda like Deadpool. Chaotic good or neutral or something.”

Gavin came back with two cups, setting one down in front of you, the other obviously meant for himself. “Yeah, that’d work. I like it. What’s his name? Captain Spoiler?”

You stared at the cup in wonder as if Reed had just handed you a genie lamp, before hesitantly taking a sip, as careful as one would be when expecting a trap. When nothing happened (other than burning your tongue of course), you quickly went back to the topic at hand. “Too heroic. Maybe just The Spoiler? Sounds ominous.” 

“Yeah, that’s perfect! What about his tragic backstory?”

Connor had rarely witnessed something as significant as what was happening right before his eyes at this very moment. He and Hank proceeded to watch the two of you come up with hero and villain characters all day, smiled at the excited all-caps messages you sent him after every positive interaction with Reed, and found himself adding every single movie you were talking about to his To-Do list, so he could watch them with you later on. 

He was making progress, Hank was making progress, and judging by the new pep in your step and the way you withdrew yourself less and less every day, he knew you were too.

Humans were very unpredictable, indeed.


End file.
